Fight Another Day
by Eternal Optimist
Summary: Very Angsty oneshot that gives insight into Clark's mind after Superman deals with a terrible tradegy. Used to be in movies under Superman but I decided to change it to Lois and Clark.


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Hello dear readers. This is my first Superman story so I hope everyone likes it. I always wondered how Clark could handle the stress of seeing so much tradegy so this is my take on it. It's pretty angsty you are forwarned. There are no pairings it's just an insight into Clark's head. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Superman... it belongs to Siegel and Shuster and DC Comics. (Although I wish I owned Dean Cain and Brandon Routh. Yummy!)

A desolate darkness filled the room casting shadows about. Clark sat perched precariously on the edge of the bed, hunched over, his broad shoulders shaking silently. The curtains were drawn closed tightly, the slight glow emanating from them telling anyone who cared enough to look that it was daylight outside. Not that Clark really cared or anything because the darkness suited his mindset. The curtains shifted slightly, a single tiny ray of the offensive light briefly illuminating his features showing the mask of anguish and tears pouring down his cheeks. His appearance was haggard, like a man who had gone through hell and back many times over and finally had succumbed to the pressure. He clearly hadn't shaved in a few days and if the bags under his eyes weren't evidence enough, there was always the haunted look filling his eyes as if he'd witnesses a great tragedy that had struck him to the core. Clark drew in a large, ragged breath and drug his hand across his face tiredly. If anyone could guess here was a man who'd reached his breaking point. Clark's thoughts were as black as the room he was in. As Superman he was used to being everyone's hero. The one who swooped in to save the day when hope was minimal and all seemed lost. Even under the grimmest circumstances he would grin and bear it, coming to the rescue but even the Man of Steel can only handle his fare share of horror and tragedy. But where was Superman's hero. Who saved him when all hope seemed lost in his eyes?

One might ask as Clark definitely does, "Why him, why does it have to be him?"

The only answer anyone including Clark himself can expect is, because he can. He has the power to make a difference.

Three days before, this man had reached his limit. Clark sank deep into the darkness of his mind and into the memories that haunted him. "Bang!" A shot echoed like a ghost through his tormented psyche. Clark desperately closed his eyes tight and dug his palms into the sides of his head as if trying to squeeze the painful memories out.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

His face screwed up in pain, the tears squeezing out the corners of his closed eyes. He dug his palms harder into his head. And then it happened, the images he had tried so hard to block out flooded through his mind.

The choking smell of gunpowder filled the air as five men in masks ran through the hallway, like monsters only seen in nightmares brandishing sawed-off shot guns. Children ran into classrooms screaming in despair as they tried to get away from the rain of bullets. Clark flew onto the scene as fast as he could, throwing himself between the men and the children feeling the bullets hit his chest and ricochet. He grabbed the nearest two men and knocked then into each other with force enough to break bones. Two others stopped terrified at Superman's sudden appearance while the final man ran towards another classroom on a final suicide mission. He burst into the room and popped off a few more shots before finally with turning the gun on himself. Superman arrived just in time grabbing the speeding bullet in his outstretched him, knocking the final shooter unconscious. Having apprehended all the shooter Clark turned hesitantly to survey the damage only to be horrified.

Blood was everywhere like a botched splatter paint job. Children were screaming and crying out in pain, a sound he would always be haunted by for the remainder of his life. He took off flying through the roof gathering up the waiting medical crew to save as many lives as he could.

Clark jerked suddenly away from his memories to find himself still in the dark room. How long had it been... two days? Clark shook his head and tried to drive away the sound of shots and screams that still echoed through his mind. He gazed across the room to see a dimly lit reflection in the mirror, he looked terrible. His thoughts once again turned dark. What was humanity coming to, why were humans such a deeply flawed species. So much so that a group of men could run through a school killing innocent kids. Why hadn't Clark been faster, stronger... maybe if he was then seven more kids would still have a future. Clark was filled with an immense self disgust. He had let seven kids die and he remembered every one of their faces and had seen those lives snuffed out in an instant like a candle. How many had Clark saved in his lifetime? He couldn't even remember. Although, how many more had died because he hadn't gotten to them in time? The blackness in his mind and heart was growing with every tragedy he witnessed, every life that was lost. He was so weary of playing the hero to a race that killed their own fellow beings without so much as blinking. He was so tired of being the invulnerable "Man of Steel" that was supposed to be strong, when inside every death was like a kryptonite knife poisoning his heart.

His thoughts turned darker still. It would be so easy to end it all. Never have to feel the pain of the death and destruction of a people that he cared so much about and more importantly he wouldn't have to deal with all his internal pain alone. He had no one to turn to with his thoughts because no one could know the truth. The darkness was steadily closing in. There was so much kryptonite in the world and it was easy to obtain. Who knew that his worst nightmare could be his greatest salvation? Clark let out a bitter, humorless laugh that turned into more of a choked sob. "A suicidal Superman. Who wouldda thunk it?" Clark's shaky, clammy hands picked up a small metal box sitting on the bed beside him. Even through the lead he could feel the deadly thrum of power that belonged to the neon green rock beneath the lid. His hands started shaking so violently that the box almost slipped from his grasp. He placed his clammy fingers over the lid.

"Superman! Help me!"

"Superman! I'm not ready to die!"

"Fire! Fire! Somebody get some help!"

Sighing with exhaustion both mental and physical Clark let the box fall to the floor and stood up slowly. He trudged over to the window and bracing himself, he threw open the curtain.

"I'll life to fight another day," he said softly.

After all, the world needed him and he was a hero to the rescue.

A/N Well that's it for now. I hope you enjoyed the story. As always comments, compliments, and constructive criticisms highly appreciated.


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